How to Use the Reference Section
by Bacon Shinobi
Summary: AU BeVin, Kevin's failing English and enlists Ben as his tutor. Well, no one ever said that it was a good choice of mentor, but he IS Kevin. Ben is a dweeb, his parents are hippies, and Kevin'd rather see encyclopedias on the ground than on the shelf.
1. Chapter 1

**How to Use the Reference Section**

**Author:** Bacon Shinobi  
**Summary: **AU BeVin, Kevin's failing English and enlists Ben as his tutor. Well, no one ever said that it was a good choice of mentor, but he IS Kevin.  
**Rating: **T currently, possibly M in later chapters.  
**Pairing:** BeVin  
**Warnings:** Some books were harmed in the writing of this piece.  
**Disclaimer:** I think it's safe to say that I don't own _shit._ I wrote this purely for my own amusement. Because I'm lame like that.

His breath shuddered as it crawled timidly from his throat. Benjamin chewed his eraser nervously. His green eyes traveled slowly across the room, following the barest hint of a gray sleeve as it floated amongst the elderly shelves of Nonfiction. A silent thrill wriggled through him as the hand attached flashed in and out of sight. It _was _him_._

For weeks, Ben Tennyson had jumped at the tiniest hint of a black shirt, a grey sleeve, an oil-stained rag, that long, silky black hair… that crooked nose—with a smirk to match. It didn't matter whether or not it was actually _him_, just the reminder sent the poor teen's senses reeling in a rush of blood to his…cheeks.

Ben's hand slapped across his mouth, head whipping down into the leaves of his book as his face soaked with embarrassment. Did he see me? I think he saw me. Shit, he's coming over. _Shit_. He thumbed through his novel anxiously, willing the sweat trickling down his spine not to call attention to itself.

And then….four places down the long mahogany table, the behind of Kevin Levin graced the seat rather….gracelessly. The dull thunk of his jeans on uncomfortable library chair, however, was oddly balanced by the loud smack made by his stack of hardcovers.

The show of such careful nonchalance made Ben giggle into the smelly pages of Ender's Game, but his bubbles of laughter were quickly squashed. All of a sudden, the boy across the table's head whirled around and fixed Ben with a hard stare. Unused to being so close to the object of his utmost affections, the mousy brunette had completely forgotten how to use his volume control. Ben's chair made a little scoot as he jumped in his seat. His eyes were acid green dinner plates on the beet-stained placemat of his face.

Kevin's dark eyes were narrowed; accusatory and cold. He leaned forward menacingly, scrutinizing the boy shrinking under his gaze. Staring poor Tennyson down with his forearms supporting him on the table as he leaned closer, he suddenly spoke; his words sliced through the tension, hedge clippers chomping down upon a bungee tether. "You any good at English?"

Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. Seriously? Of all the things he could have asked, _was I good at English?_ "Uhh, sorta, I-I guess…?" he stammered nervously, trying to rid himself of the Stupidity Cotton clogging his mouth.

With a sweep of his strong gray arm, the dark teenager slid his books across the table, moving to the seat across from Ben. "For real? Like, passing, right?" his stare had morphed into a slightly more skeptical version of its previous analysis.

"Well, yeah, I guess. I mean, I haven't checked lately or anything, but I got a B or something on my last test…" Ben chattered anxiously, fumbling with the pages of his book as his heart rocketed around against the sides of his ribcage. He could feel that unflattering shade of red leak onto his godforsaken cheeks.

Kevin raised his eyebrows, softening his intense stare. "Shit, you're kiddin' me; who's your teacher?"

He scratched the back of his head nervously, fidgeting with the strands of hair that brushed his neck. "U-um, Jeffries." Mortification engulfed him as he admitted he was a year younger, viscous and unforgiving. Ben felt like he was drowning in the molasses of shame.

"You got a B in _her_ class? That lady hated my guts! I was lucky if I even averaged a D! What'd you do, lick her freakin' boots every day for a month?" Kevin seemed completely unfazed by this little nugget of information, and surprised Ben by pretty much ignoring it altogether.

Ben laughed nervously, "She's not all _that_ bad; I mean, I heard she's easier this year or something…" he knew it was a lame cover up, but he couldn't stop his motor mouth. Better mindless chatter than a panic attack, he figured.

The boy across the table snorted disbelievingly. "Yeah right. If nothing, that old hag only gets worse the further she gets from menopause. There's a reason she's still a "Miss"," he derided. "Still," he leaned back in his chair, arms folded, "She ain't who we're talkin' about."

Apparently Ben's cheeks _could_ get redder. "R-right. So, I guess I'm pretty okay at English, um, is that all…?"

Kevin frowned slightly, his intense eyebrows drawing dark, shadowy curtains across is eyes. "Yeah, about that…" he searched for words, "See, the thing is, I got a report to do here, and I need a decent grade on it…"

"Y-you want me to write it _for_ you?" Ben squeaked.

"Nah, that's just lame, I ain't some kinda quitter that ain't smart enough ta write his own crap!" he defended, "I jess need some… guidance." His words had all the grace of a used car salesman with an eighth grade diploma: smooth in presentation, but clunky everywhere else. No wonder he was failing English.

Ben brightened up immediately. Be Kevin Levin's private tutor? Yes _please_. "Well I'd be happy to help you out or something if you want," he chirped, trying not to seem too eager.

Kevin's beautiful lips curled into an even more lovely smirk and he extended his hand to Ben. "Name's Kevin Levin."

He reached forward to grasp Kevin's hand across the table, resisting his first impulse to say 'I know.' "Er, I'm Ben! Ben Tennyson," he managed to say around the heart that had somehow lodged itself in his throat.

Kevin laughed, shaking the small hand in his own. "Nice ta meetcha, Ben Ben Tennyson," he teased.

As if his head weren't reeling enough already as it was, Ben was suddenly overcome by the strangest sense of déjà vu.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Man, you guys are too awesome for words. Every time I feel like I'm stuck, I get a comment or a watch and it's like _BIZZOW! INSPIRATION!_

You have no idea.

I…I think I might…love you.

* * *

"…en! Ben! _Ben!!_"

"Nn… Kevin…" the name tumbled from his lips.

"Benjamin Tennyson, get your lazy butt out of bed before you're late for school!"

"Gyah!" He jerked out of bed, startled by his mother's shrill voice. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be down in a second, chill out!" Ben shook his head clear, hopping in place as he tried to untangle his leg from the blankets. His face was on fire, but he ignored the damp sheets as he rushed to get ready for school.

"Twenty minutes, Benjamin! How long does it take you to put on clothes?" His mother was getting testy.

Slinging a backpack over his shoulder, he tore down the hallway. "Gimme a break! I couldn't find any clean clothes!" he covered lamely. Truthfully, he kept getting sidetracked by the strange—ahem—imagery that popped into his head every couple of minutes, but he wasn't about to tell _her_ that.

"And whose fault do you think _that_ is, mister?" she snagged his collar, thrusting a muffin at him before he could hit the door.

"Aw, c'mon, Mom, you know I don't have the kinda time to haul my laundry to the washer every day!" he whined, fumbling in his bag for his mp3 player with the hand not tainted by soy muffin.

"Oh, I've seen your grades, and there's no way that you're using all that time after school to study," She pushed him towards the door lightly. "Besides, all you have to do is carry your clothes to the laundry room. _I'm_ the one stuck washing everything," she chuckled.

"Okay fine, so I get a smoothie every now and then, but other than that, I'm at the library, I swear!" he said around a mouthful of muffiny goodness. Well, actually he also took to stalking a certain boy from school from time to time, but she didn't need to know _everything_ about his personal life.

"Just get to school before you're late and the school calls your parole officer."

"Oh come ON, I was late **one time**!" Ben laughed as he jogged out the door, trying to outwit the knots in his headphone cords.

"Better run!" she called after him as she closed the door.

Exasperated and rushing to make up the lost time, Ben unplugged his twisted headphones, gluten-free breakfast in his mouth, so that he could use both hands to search through the maze of wires.

Unfortunately, it never occurred to him that running without looking where he was going might be less than a good idea, and his sneaker caught on a wayward chunk of sidewalk. He stumbled, but caught himself before he dove into the pavement. "Today must be my lucky day!" He smiled to himself as he deftly unlooped the last of the tangles.

At that moment, satisfied with his accomplishments, he looked up…and completely missed seeing the curb. He misjudged the ground level and pitched forward, nose-diving into the harsh asphalt. To make things worse, as his arms wheeled desperately for balance, he let go of his headphones, which went sailing even further than he did; into the storm drain around the corner.

"No, no, no!!" he scrambled after them, the tender skin of his palms shredding on the harsh blacktop, but alas, he was too late. His precious headphones were now sleeping with the fishes. Literally, actually; the storm drain led out to the bay. Thank you, ironic spray-painting environmentalists. Come to think of it, his parent's might have sprayed the sign on this one...

After a moment of stunned silence, the disheveled boy picked himself up, cursing the cruel, heartless gods of Irony. He'd lost his muffin too. Dammit.

* * *

Most of his classes were thoroughly uneventful, so in lieu of paying attention to his teachers' pontificating, Ben chose to tune them out in favor of more important things; i.e.: how the hell a C-average student like himself was supposed to go about tutoring upperclassmen.

After several periods of careful deliberation, he'd finally come up with the perfect solution: ask Gwen. She was an all-around smarty pants, so she'd be the perfect person to go to! Unfortunately, this also meant that she and Ben didn't exactly have any classes in common, so Ben decided to seek her out at lunch.

Now came the hard part: coming up with a plausible cover story. After all, "I want to tutor this guy I've had a crush on/been stalking for the past year or so" probably wouldn't get him the kind of reaction he wanted.

* * *

Gwen Tennyson shielded her face as her doofus cousin came barreling over. She groaned, sliding over to make room for him despite the voice of reason screaming in her head to just ignore him.

"Gwen! Gweeeen! _Gwen!!"_ His annoying voice grated against her eardrums.

She rolled her eyes as he scooted next to her. "I'm sitting right next to you; you can stop yelling now," she said flatly, stabbing a cup of jello.

"I thought I'd never catch up to you!" he panted, lunchbox making a quiet "ktmp" against the tabletop.

She frowned, not buying it. "Walking to school certainly isn't doing anything to keep you in shape, then," the redhead responded sarcastically. He barely acknowledged her existence during the daylight hours; this sudden approach could only mean one thing. "What do you want, Ben?"

"Can't a guy eat lunch with his cousin nowadays?" he laughed nervously.

Gwen just stared at him; unenthused.

Ben groaned, "Alright, alright. I just need help in, um, English," he looked down demurely, hoping she'd take pity on him.

There was no such pity to be found. "Ben, your eye is twitching."

"Is not! I really do need help writing a paper!" he tried, fussing with the hem of his sleeve.

His cousin folded her arms and sat back to look at him. "Oh yeah? _Whose_ paper?" She always could read him like a book.

"Jeez, what kinna guy you take me for, Gwen?" he defended lamely.

Or like first graders' homework. "Let me guess. A bully?" she derided, " Or a _girl?_" adding a roll of the eyes.

"Hh—I—it is _not_ a **girl!**" his flustered sputtering wasn't helping his argument. This wasn't exactly going as planned.

She sighed, bored with his tedious denial. "Alright, who is she? Nancy Ninetogawa? Tracey Welve?" her nails drummed against the tabletop, patience wearing thin.

The brunette groaned, giving in. "Just tell me how I can help, um, her, write a book report." He batted his eyelashes, _"Pleeeease?"_

Her pursed lips tugged to the side as if by the drawstring of annoyance. She paused for a moment, letting her cousin stew. "On what?"

The thick veneer of terror and dread leapt from Ben's face as his glee shoved it aside with a demanding fist. "To Kill a Mockingbird," he chirped, trying to hide his enthusiasm.

That caught Gwen off guard. "She's a year _older_ than you?" the disbelief was plain in her voice. "No WONDER you're asking for help!"

"So you'll do it?" he pleaded, getting a little desperate.

"…Fine," she heaved a sigh. Ben started to shower her with his undying appreciation, but she cut him off. "On one condition."

"**Name it**." Ben was so desperately grateful that he would've sawed off his own legs for her.

Sensing this, she considered her options carefully. Then she smirked. "Introduce me."

"What." It wasn't a question.

"Introduce me!" she insisted slyly.

Ben gaped. His jaw snapped shut and he struggled to find words to convince her otherwise, "Wh—I, you… no! I can't! No way!"

Gwen's lips twisted into a manipulative grin, wondering if her cousin's head would explode from all the blood rushing to it. "That's my final offer, Benjamin."


	3. Chapter 3

No way. No _way_. Ben was _not_ introducing his cousin to the guy whose name alone made his knees buckle. A guy who made his stomach dissolve into a sparkling pink cloud of adoration that he had to fight to keep from leaking out of his stupid, fickle face. A guy who inspired dreams that…well…

But more importantly than any of that: a guy. The possible implications of those two little words were enough to strike Ben dead with terror. Why, why did his stupid, dumb heart have to latch itself onto another guy?! As if getting girls to like him wasn't hard enough. Jeez.

The margin for potential backfire was great enough to swallow a couple of Russias. If Gwen found out that Kevin was so decidedly barren of lady-parts, there was no telling what would happen. What if she disowned Ben entirely? What if she never spoke to him again? What if SHE developed a crush on him? Or worse…. What if Kevin developed a crush on _her?_

Ben shuddered, his heart dragging in the mud as he trudged to the library. He tried his best to shove away such thoughts as he pushed the glass door open, straightening up as best he could. It was bad enough that Kevin thought he was a dork, he didn't need to peg Ben as a crybaby as well.

He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, hoping that he'd gotten there early enough to regain composure before Kevin showed up. As he rounded the corner, he was feeling pretty good. His spirits had lifted as he remembered how close they'd come to each other yesterday. Kevin had approached _him_. Kevin had sat across from _him_. Kevin had leaned closer to _him_. Kevin was….already here.

He immediately panicked. Kevin was early! _Really_ early. Ben was counting on the delinquent, of all people, to show up late; he still needed to glue the pathetic fragments of his confidence back together! He ducked behind a tall shelf, ready to offer up his soul to whomever would ensure that Kevin hadn't seen him. Trembling, he squeezed his eyes shut, all his doubts and fears flooding back over him. Smothering him.

The soft, sandpapery noise his jacket made as the drowning boy slid down the front of the bookshelf seemed to echo through the building, the silence so thick naught could escape it, but it masked the muted gasps Ben emitted as he dissolved into sheer terror. Suddenly smothered by his doubts, he clutched at his neck, unable to force air through his windpipe. He curled into a ball, choking on fear, the cold hand relentlessly throttling his weak neck.

Ben shook violently, wracked with insuppressible panic, oh god, he was in way over his head; he screwed up _big time_. What was he _thinking?_ Kevin would probably take one look at him and know everything. He'd never speak to Ben again, he'd beat Ben to a pulp for defiling his metaphorical personage, Ben would be a school pariah, look at the little gay boy, thought he could get that hot upperclassman, what a _dumbass_, what a pathetic little butt pirate, fairy, fag, melon-fucker, an icy hand like stop signs in winter latched onto his throat, choking, stifling any sound he could make in defense, crushing him slowly, cruelly, it was so cold, so cold, why was it so cold, why couldn't he stop the shaking, the madness, the hopelessness, the falling, tumbling over and over into the darkest depths of the pit of the deepest trench, fag, fag, FAG, so cold, so dark, the hand, that frozen hand, the hand of death himself, creeping onto his shoulder to take him away for all the horrible, deplorable thoughts that had run about in his head, how dare he think such terrible things, icicles creeping up his arm, a black widow dripping nitrogen from its arctic mandibles, reaching for him, reaching—

Ben screamed. Well, he started to before a small hand clamped over his mouth, shutting him up.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" a tense voice whispered, heavy with concern.

With wild eyes, Ben trembled as he looked up at the thin frame in front of him: a shadowy silhouette blotting out the bright library fluorescents. His mouth hung open as she let go, voice having fled shamelessly.

The shadow crouched, both small hands clamped onto his shoulders, light pouring over the slim arms, collecting in small pools around the black hair and furrowed brow. It was just a girl. Her pink-clad shoulders were hunched, near-invisible eyebrows knit above her dark, worried eyes. "Are you okay?" she repeated, adamant.

Ben remembered to breathe.

Her almond-shaped eyes were locked on his own, which were still wide in terror. She wasn't letting him go without an answer.

Ben Tennyson could only manage a jerky nod.

"Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth."

He could not refuse her stern face, lit dramatically from above. But he supposed it was fitting, as he groped for his senses. He searched for his voice, a throttled whisper, "That's never happened before."

"Obviously. You had no idea how to handle yourself," she remained stern, but relaxed her vice grip on his arms.

Humiliation battered the already loose grip he had on his cool.

"But it happens, dude. To the best of us," she amended quickly, seeing his already unstable sensibility threaten to tank further. The girl sat back across from him, satisfied that he could handle breathing unassisted now. "I'm Julie," she whispered, seeming at last to shatter the oppressive silence which cocooned around him.

"Ben," he exhaled. His fingers dug into the fibrous plate that the library tried to pass off as carpet.

She hesitated a moment. "My first was right before a tennis match." She studied his face carefully. "So, y'know, at least yours was in a quiet place," at this, she cracked a smile. "No time limit or anything, right?"

Oh yeah. Time limit. He was surely late by now. "I dunno about that," he glanced furtively at the far edge of the shelf. He desperately sought a cover story, "Study session…" he half-truthed lamely.

Julie pondered this. "...If you don't mind me asking, what's so scary about that?"

Just lie, just make something up. Something, anything! "Kevin Levin…?" A cop-out, but better to just let her draw her own conclusions.

She regarded him skeptically. "Kevin? I didn't think he was _that_ bad."

"It's a long story." He looked at the floor.

She bought this half of the story. Nodding, she reached into her pocket, "Are you gonna be okay?" She scribbled into a small, wrinkled book of post-its.

Ben nodded. Another fragmented truth.

Julie pressed a lightly battered yellow page into his hand, her eyes propelling reassurance into him. "Give me a call if you ever need to talk or anything. And if it happens again, just remember to steady yourself and take deep breaths." She smiled. Such a genuine human being.

Another dumb nod as she stood, and he let her help him up. He watched as she straightened his hood with unusual stranger's affection, and wondered dimly on her oddness.

"Go get 'em, Tiger," she grinned, and chucked him on the chin lightly, giving a brief wave as she made a secret exit. After all that, she still tried to preserve his dignity by taking a longer route out.

Seriously, what.

Ben shook off this weirdness, thumbing the softened corners of the slip in his hand. The only proof he had that she wasn't some crazy hallucination. He tucked the page away, taking a breath to steel himself. He took a step forward, toward Kevin, and shrunk back. No way, this was crazy. Maybe he could still reschedule? No, stop that. You're both already here, and you've pussied out enough already. Just get it over with.

He gripped the post-it like a totem in his jacket pocket, and after a moment, out he walked.


	4. Chapter 4

On jello legs he made it whole to Kevin's table. Overwhelmed by his nearness, Ben took the closest seat to himself…three away from the upperclassman.

At the thud of Ben's ass, Kevin looked up from his book, "BenBen Tennyson, we meet again." His eyes narrowed skeptically at his removed placement, but just shrugged and shifted over a few seats. "Sup?"

This display of chillness was not lost on Ben, and his frazzled nerves eased a bit. He tried to look nonchalant, but ended up a bit sheepish. "Uh…lost my headphones down a sewer today. Nothing much other than that." He thumbed the note in his pocket, its sticky backing already softening with lint.

"Down the _what?_" Kevin's brain almost audibly whirred as it tried to process this information. He gave up quickly, shaking his head. "You at least got any extras lyin' around?"

A wry mirth seeped into Ben's features, "Are you really concerned about my ability to access my life's soundtrack, or are you just trying to put off this paper?"

"Dammit! You don't take one bit'a shit, do ya, Tennyson?" Kevin laughed—_laughed! With Ben!_—with an amicable grin.

He found himself smirking a little too. "Guess not, Levin." Who was this new Ben? Why couldn't he be around all the time?! A bit of a chuckle even bubbled to the surface. "C'mon, where's your book at? Let's get going on this."

"Oh, uh, yeah. That." His eyes shifted, "I don't actually have one'a those."

"Wait, what do you mean? What did I just see you reading?"

"Car mag." He brought an Automotive Monthly out from under the table with a sheepish grin.

Ben rolled his eyes. Suddenly all those Ds made sense. "Guess we're gonna waste time finding one, then." His chair screeted dully across the emaciated carpet as he stood.

Kevin remained in his chair. "What, like find one here?"

"Where better?"

"In the library?"

"...Yes." _Is he fucking with me?_

"What kinda li-brary carries report-style literature?" He drolled, pulled at the word as if breaking it in.

Ben flattened, his every being exuding Are You Kidding Me. He let a long pause stretch between them.

Kevin remained innocent.

"Are you done?"

"If I say no do I still have to get up?"

"Yes."

He projected a mighty groan and, with great ceremony, heaved himself up from the table. "_Fiiiiine_," he sighed, slinking toward Ben with a dejected slump.

Ben snorted at the flamboyant display. "I heard a lotta things about you, but no one ever mentioned you were SUCH a drama queen." His fist clenched around the note a little bit less.

With flair worthy of Nathan Lane, Kevin straightened up and an offended hand alighted upon his chest. "Well! Never in my life have I been so slanderously accused, Ben Tennyson! EVERYONE mentions my EVERYTHING!" he huffed, "No exceptions!"

Ben could have died right on the spot. Instead, he shook his head, clutching Julie's totem again. "You're such a flip of the coin sometimes. One second you're reading car mags and flunking English—"

"A D is not flunking!"

"—_Almost_ flunking English," Ben rolled his eyes, "and the next you're throwing around words like 'slanderously' and 'literature'. It's like you're trying to hide that you're secretly not an idiot."

"Actually I just watch a lot of cop dramas." Kevin turned, heading toward the shelves. What a dick.

Still, Ben thought he might be on to something. Allowing Kevin to take the lead, Ben moseyed through the literature section, eyes more on his study partner than on the books. Those jeans were really working for him. They were working for Ben, too.

As they burrowed deeper into the library, they passed the maw of the Reference Section. Its darkened hallways hid more tales than mere encyclopedias could hold. The air of mystery lurking around it caused Ben to glance up from the feast before him. He peered down the archaic shelves as they passed, perfumed not only with a thousand books' papery musk, but also with a faintly carnal aroma. The dead labyrinth was rarely used, but study partners had for years sought its lonely stacks—as the best place to learn more about each other than for researching scholarly pursuits. He dimly wondered what it would be like to excel at anatomy.

Before him, Kevin rolled to a halt, and Ben didn't even run into him! Inwardly, he praised himself for this accomplishment. Celebratory smoothies were in order. But later! The time for that was later. "Find it? You've been dragging me through this place long enough."

"Hey, Dewey's decimals mean shit to me; you're lucky we aren't in, like, Mexico right now." Kevin was terse, having backtracked several times prior to reaching this shelf. Not that Ben minded.

"Well, we're here now, anyway." He plucked a purple volume off the shelf. "Now you don't have any more ways to put this off."

"You underestimate me, Tennyson," rumbled the reply through a smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

Know that I love you, dear patient ones.

* * *

The phone hummed dimly with power as Ben hesitated, a yellow slip of paper clenched in his sweating palm. He closed his eyes and remembered the odd affection of a stranger, and pressed "send". The muted ringing echoed within him like foreboding steps toward an unknown fate.

Four rings. A click. "This is Julie! Leave a message." Relief. Somehow a phone was not indirect enough a contact for Ben to relax completely. Better make an ass of himself in a message and face silent rejection instead.

"Uh, hey Julie. This is Ben, the, um, guy from the library earlier. I guess I just wanted to let you know that I made it out the other side," a nervous laugh, "Thanks for your help. I don't think I could have done it without you. So...yeah." He'd reached the awkward end of his awkward message. He fumbled to close, "I guess.. that's it. Later." He hung up after an awful pause, face crumpled in self-disgust. He should've just sent a text or something. The further away from his real, unedited self his communication was, the better. Too late now.

He flopped back on his bed, pillow over his face, punishing himself for being socially inept. His phone rang.

"Hello?" He kicked himself. Why did you pick up? Who said you could come out of time-out from humanity? What had we just been going over?

"Oh good, I was hoping I'd catch you. Sorry I missed your call, I was throwing some laundry in the wash real quick." Even her voice sounded pink.

Oh yeah, laundry existed. "Hey Julie..." Ben laughed nervously.

"So it went okay? You remembered to breathe?"

"Yeah... it actually went kind of well." I mean, I kind of used your number as an emotional crutch, but you know... Ben sighed. He couldn't say that, could he? It was weird to talk to a stranger with this vague familiarity, but it felt kind of liberating to vent to someone he probably would never see again. Maybe he could get away with it this once. "Your post-it was kind of like a charm," he ventured.

She laughed. That's a good sign, right? "I guess even phantom emotional support is emotional support, right?"

Relief was starting to seep through the phone. "Yeah, whatever works right?" 'Right? Right? Right?' He cursed himself for parroting, mocking himself internally with a stupid mental voice.

"Post-it support group meets every Wednesday at the tennis courts. So, if you don't mind me asking, you like him, right?"

Oh fuck. "...Is it obvious?" Complete stranger. Never see her again. Breathe. (Although was it just him or was the post-it support group a legitimate offer?)

"Only to someone who witnessed you having a breakdown like two shelves away from him," she laughed. Laugter is good. Laughter relieves tension. Laughter means this is okay. "Besides, who wouldn't?"

"Heh...Yeah... At least he's not wise to it yet, though. He caught me palming your note and now he thinks I was late because I chatted you up for this number." He flushed in shame as he recollected the scene.

"Oh...harsh. So does anyone else know about this?"

"The study thing? Or the...the gay thing?" He stumbled over the word. It was the first time he'd said it out loud.

"I guess you just answered my question." My, wasn't she perceptive? "So am I your beard?"

Ben laughed. "Yes. Totally." Shit, that might actually...A thought occurred to him. "Shit."

"What?"

"That solves way too many of my problems."

"What d'you mean?"

"Would you ever seriously consider being my beard? I mean, you're a total stranger and for all I know you're a serial killer who preys on pathetic gay boys, but for real?"

"I'm not, but I guess I could consider that," he hoped she meant the former, "Why?"

"You're the only person on Earth who knows that. I'm sure you can puzzle out the rest."

"Ah. Family?"

"Kinda."

"What about Kevin?"

"What about him? We both know I never had a chance anyway."

"...We'll see."

Ben waited for her as she paused.

"Alright, theoretically what would be in it for me?"

Ah. Right. He had no clue who this girl was. "You're right." He shook his head, even though she couldn't see it. "There wouldn't really be anything it for you."

After a pause, she sighed. "Well, maybe we'll just be friends and your family can draw its own conclusions. I'm not gonna pull myself off the market just to save your pride, but I mean, unrequited love between friends happens all the time, right?" her smirk was audible.

He laughed. "I'd know."

"Okay then, I guess we have to start hanging out?"

"Dang, first Kevin Levin asks me to study, now you wanna hang out—look at my social life boom!"

"Don't make me regret saving your ass!" she chirped, a giggle on her lips.

"I guess let's do lunch or smoothies or something?"

"I've got student gov at lunch, so maybe after school is better."

"You're like one of those smart people, aren't you?" he teased, "After school I do the study thing, but afterwards we can hit up Mister Smoothie and you can talk me down from being in close proximity to you-know-who." It felt weird to use Kevin's name so much after keeping it to himself for so long.

"As he is the basis of our friendship, I think that's a pretty good plan of action."

"It's settled, then. Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"See ya then. Later, Ben."

"Bye." He let her hang up first. So much for a complete stranger that he'd never see again. Now he had a full-blown fake-straight cover operation. Who was this girl? More importantly, how had he lucked out and bagged her? He hoped she wasn't going to turn out to be secretly crazy.

Ben sighed, flopping backward on his bed. To the untrained eye, he thought, it would seem that things are starting to look up. Except he had exhausted his intuitive training ability with Kevin this afternoon, and now he would actually need some sort of lesson strategy for tomorrow. He rubbed his face, flipping onto his stomach.

The dull tone vibrated through his phone's tinny little speakers as he hit "send". This time, the receiver clicked on after just a ring and a half.

"Hello?"

"Hey Gwen."

* * *

"Kevin," he tested the name. Ben lay awake in bed, the quiet dark of evening enveloping him in secrecy. The name seemed to linger on his lips, the N's subtle vibration making his mouth tingle. It felt like the wave he experienced when Kevin walked into the same room, at the end of his breath and full of invisible tension that plucked at his skin. He tried not to evoke this name often in anyone's presence, lest its magic dissipate, but in the clandestine folds of his bed at night, he stirred the air and bathed in its invisible power.

"Kevinnn..." he breathed again, allowing himself to draw the end into a hum. He burrowed deeper into his comforter, aptly named, trying to imagine it to be a pair of strong arms. His pillow made a poor faux shoulder, but it held onto heat the way a human (sort of) would. "Kevin," a whisper. He tried to recall his scent, but it just barely eluded him. He had only been up close with him twice, and aromas were not something he had exactly trained himself to memorize. Form, however, was. He recalled the curves of taught muscle covered in cotton, the strong, square hands, the blue denim jeans whose relaxed fit fooled no one about the tightness of a certain ass...

Ben sighed. He had no proper frame of reference for any of this. He felt his weak, noodly arms. Not even close. And the available buns? Squishy as ever. At least his hands were similarly shaped, if thin and uncalloused. He ran them down his chest, a comforting gesture that soothed his agitation. Rather than lower his self-esteem further, he concentrated on the figure of his adulation. His stupid hair, his crooked nose, that permanent smirk...

How would it feel to kiss that smirk? Would it be as electrifying as having it aimed towards him? He flushed at the thought. Kevin struck him as an adventurous kisser...how would it feel to be kissed _by_ those lips? To look down upon that blackened crown as those lips descended from his own... He shuddered. The skin of his chest prickled as Kevin's imaginary mouth traveled across it. His fingers traced their ethereal path. As his fingertips ghosted back up toward his neck, his hands parted ways and one palm flattened against his waist, choosing a more substantial path in the other direction.

He struggled to control his breathing. It wouldn't do to make much noise, but someone's name still lingered on his lips... "Kevin..." it came out a whispering moan. He relieved his shorts from duty. It probably wasn't comparable, but Ben knew of one thing they had properly in common. His substantial hand adventured to this new destination, its touch firm and purposeful. His breath caught upon apposite contact. His eyelids fluttered shut. As his flattened palm moved, his ghostly hand also crossed into the significant plane, nails biting into his neck.

"Nnnn..." he hummed, amping up the electricity in the room as his firm hand quickened. He breathed, openmouthed and heavy, into the darkness. His back arched a little, knees flexed a little, "Ah..." His hips began to move of their own accord, impatiently kicking up the pace. His brow furrowed, then shot upward suddenly, "Oh!" he breathed, eyes flashing open. He became fervent, ravenous, the hand at his neck slipping away to grip at his sheets. He shivered roughly, emitting a quiet, gruff moan. Images of Kevin flashed through his mind, and he sought conquest over them. He stifled another moan, this one tinted with desperation. Sweat glistened across his skin, rolling down his arching spine, hips ablur. At last, a gasp siezed him, a cry sought the air as it was muffled by a quick arm, and he was struck by great, shuddering waves. Weakly, he collapsed, limp in satisfaction. He breathed the deep fulfillment of practicing one's life purpose and resigned to sleep.


End file.
